


Every Mammal is a Star

by Richard_Letterman



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:47:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29577723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Richard_Letterman/pseuds/Richard_Letterman
Summary: Nicholas Wilde and Judy Hopps are the shining beacons of Zootopia's Precinct 1. That is until Chief Bogo transfers Nick to the most notorious district in the whole city; Precinct 8 in Sahara Square. It's not long before the normally cool and collected fox is overwhelmed by what Sahara Square throws at him.
Relationships: Platonic Friends - Relationship
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Transfer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read my story, I recommend you read nota999's story, The Campaign:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/6453577  
> On its own, it's a great story and my fic includes spoilers for the end it.

Zootopia’s evenings were a breathtaking sight to behold. Each district had its own unique spectrum of colors to compliment the orange-violet skies of dusk. Sahara Square was arguably the most beautiful district to watch the sunset. Sparkling sand dunes and the glitzy Palm Springs Casino gave such a mesmerizing view that it could bring a hardened rhino to cry. Coupled with that Zootopia Sound, it was a sight that garnered frequent praise and adoration on social media. Former Mayor Lionheart was especially proud of Sahara Square’s inherent beauty; so much so that he exhausted residents and tourists alike with overt advertising.

Sahara Square was also unique in the fact that it was one of the last districts to use sodium-vapor street lamps as opposed to LED ones. While newer lights were supposedly brighter and safer, they paled in comparison to the old-fashioned ones. The sodium-based beauties set the mood perfectly—tinting the streets a comfortable desert-like amber. To outsiders, it’s a blissful memory. With all the tear jerking, heart-fluttering gushiness Sahara Square’s sights brought, one would never guess those very dunes were in fact dumping grounds for stolen weapons and shot up bodies. A well kept secret, save for that gangbanger buried with a pulse that made national headlines. The horrors of former Mayor Bellwether’s anti-predator policies were fresh in the minds of everyone, especially those scarred by them. But one neighborhood in particular, Red Valley, they got hit the hardest.

Red Valley, known as “Dead Valley” by natives of Sahara Square, was once a thriving upper-middle class residential area, made up of equal amounts of predator and prey. Though the area had fallen out of grace decades ago, the night howler scare and the already prevalent gang violence had turned the neighborhood into a battlefield. Not a night went by without the sounds of sirens and gunfire echoing off of abandoned businesses and condemned homes. Some scenes were so bad, it would take cleanup crews up to a week to undo the bloodshed. Residents often had to sweep spent shell casings from their yards. For them, it was another day in hell. For tourists, it was but a footnote in their brochures, coupled with a warning to stay away.

Many of Zootopia’s finest lost their lives combating the violence while less courageous officers outright quit. It wasn’t unusual for Captain Mason Dromry of Precinct 8 to request help from other districts to combat the high crime rate, but no officer ever stuck around as long as he wanted them to. Though he had what he considered the best of the best in his precinct, he was blindsided by the fact that one of his top ranking officers, an impala named Troy Oshawa, had recently become a father. Troy had been crucial for curtailing gang violence, so his departure would be felt throughout the district. His partner, a hippo named Pryce Kubu, insisted that he could handle their beat on his own and that Troy needed to be with his wife and son. 

Sterile office lights illuminated Dromry’s worn down office as evening slowly transitioned to night. The camel rocked in his creaky chair as he listened to the reasons Pryce gave to grant Troy parental leave. The Captain had a habit of dosing off when listening to one of his officers’ ramblings, especially Pryce. This was only because Dromry was able to pick up the point of a long-winded speech right away. From there, he simply allowed for whoever was talking to either tire out or end on their own terms; Dromry was a camel of few words. As he looked out his window to gaze at the Animalia Stadium in the distance, his ears picked up Pryce’s gum flapping once more, though it sounded like it was directed towards his partner.

“Troy, I love you man, but you need to be with your family.”

The impala sat with his arms folded, giving his best attempt at a rebuttal. “I-”

“Captain, I’d die of a stroke if Troy’s family lost him to some meathead with a bazooka.”

“Sir-”

“Besides, we can get a temp to fill his place, can’t we?”

Troy was fuming in his seat, wishing for his partner to shut up for a second. Pryce continued for an eternity about ‘parenting’ this and ‘temporary’ that with Dromry occasionally nodding along. Finally, the impala managed to get out a word before his talkative partner caught his breath.

“While I do agree with Pryce, I can’t leave the precinct high and dry. No one knows these streets better than I do. Besides, I’m quicker on the draw…” Troy’s head shrank a size when the camel picked up an eyebrow. “...when necessary of course.”

Pryce opened his mouth, ready to continue until Dromry stood up from his seat.

“I know you are, Troy,” Dromry finally answered while collecting a manila folder from his crowded filing cabinet. “For that, I’m grateful. Saves me paperwork. But your partner makes a good point.”

The hippo gleamed in his seat while Troy gave a concerned look. Dromry continued, “I can grant you 12 weeks of paid leave. I’d really hate to lose my best officer in times like these, but your wife and son would hate to lose you more. Or am I wrong?”

“No, sir…” Troy turned to his partner. “You really think you can manage without me?”

“Absolutely Positively!” Pryce boomed, shaking everything loose in the room. “The missus’ll need you more than me, buddy!”

“Captain…” Troy began, searching for what to say next. “It’s just… I love my wife and son, but…”

Dromry’s glasses slid down as he looked to Troy. “It’s already settled, son. I think we’ll be fine for three months. Go be with your family.”

Pryce flew out of his seat and grabbed Troy for a fantastically powerful hug. Dromry would try to calm him down, but vain attempts from before taught him to wait until Pryce settled himself down.

“I’d be upset if I weren’t so happy you get to spend time with little Jakey!” It almost seemed like Pryce was granted parental leave from how excited he was. Troy was unsure of his superior’s decision at first, but the thought of how happy his wife, Kana, would be made it better.

Dromry signed off the final bit of paperwork before passing the stack over to Troy for Animal Resources to process. Pryce’s incessant thanks and praises continued on until they left the building. All the camel did was shake his head with feigned elation. Then, without hesitation, he picked up his phone and dialed to Chief of Police, Idris Bogo.

For the most part, the rest of the city had settled down after the night howler fiasco and the mayoral election. The shining beacons of Precinct 1, Officers Judy Hopps and Nicholas Wilde, had the spotlight on them for being prime examples of the Mammal Inclusion Initiative. Recently, however, they’d taken a backseat to Mayor-Elect Todd Renard’s newfound fame as Zootopia’s first fox mayor. Along with that, the recent influx of many other smaller mammals enlisting allowed for Nick and Judy to blend into the crowd.

Most of the ZPD loved the dynamic little duo, who had a work ethic and drive comparable to the entire force. Any case that proved too much for an officer to handle, Nick and Judy would gladly take the reins. There were some, however, who didn’t approve of their shenanigans—namely Chief Bogo. He would be on the receiving end of then acting Mayor John Nileworthy’s rage whenever they caused chaos. Practically every week, he would have the partners in his office to scold them for causing more trouble than their case warranted. That never mattered to Judy, who was near obsessed with taking every criminal off the streets; the safety of citizens was her top concern. Nick, meanwhile, was a little more mature in his philosophy of ‘more harm than good.’ Despite that, the Chief, however forced, recognized their exemplary efforts. 

The evening sun sank behind Downtown’s impossibly tall skyscrapers as Nick and Judy pulled their tremendous Herd Conqueror into its designated space, still intact to everyone’s amazement. Having been up for over twelve hours, they were exhausted. Today was nothing out of the ordinary; serving arrest warrants, slamming tickets into disgruntled driver’s paws, and mountains of paperwork rivaling a library’s archive. Nothing intellectually challenging besides having to deal with high tempers and the occasional resistance of arrest. Still, they wouldn’t trade it for the world. Especially Nick, who was quite fond of his life’s new direction. Though he never outright expressed it, the hustler-turned-cop was eternally grateful he finally found his calling. Judy was keenly aware of Nick’s satisfaction, but she was more focused on one-upping him whenever possible. Even over the tiniest of things, like who could pass out the most stickers to school cubs or landing a tricky shot into the recycling bin.

As they strutted into the building, a familiar booming voice called for Wilde. Their ears perked up as they exchanged confused looks since Bogo normally called them both into his office. With it being just Nick this time, they parted ways—Judy to the locker room and Nick upstairs to Bogo’s office.

“Chief, whatever happened this time, it was her idea,” claimed Nick as he closed the door. 

Bogo ignored the spillage from the fox’s mouth and pointed to the chair across the desk. As Nick climbed up and settled in, he noticed an opened personnel file with Troy Oshawa pictured in the top right corner. Nick instantly knew what this meant, but held his tongue. Bogo wiped his glasses and put them on.

“I’m sure you’re aware of Precinct 8’s staffing problems,” said Bogo formally. “The Oshawas just had their first child and he’s requested parental leave.” 

“Oh…” Nick muttered under his breath, astonished with that news instead of, well, the usual for 8. Still, he knew exactly what the purpose of this meeting was, which at least confirmed his suspicions of why Bogo didn't want them both in the office.

As desperately as he wanted to chastise Nick for his insensitivity, Bogo continued. “Three months is too long for Sahara Square to be short an officer of Oshawa’s caliber.” 

“But Chief," Nick jokingly pleaded with a paw on his chest, "I just can’t abandon Hopps like that! We’re attached at the hip, it’ll break my heart.” 

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine without her as she’s done without you. _Numerous_ times. I’ve already forwarded the necessary paperwork to Captain Dromry. He expects you there first thing in the morning.” Bogo peered down his glasses at Nick, “on time.” 

“This has nothing to do with the Renard endorsement, does it?”

With a lengthy groan, Bogo took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “No, but since you’ve done that…” The Chief’s look of stern resentment battled against Nick’s sly gaze. “I’ve had enough scrutiny from the public. The last thing I need is a daily press conference whenever one of my officers’ breaks wind in a political manner.” 

Nick exchanged the laugh that boiled in his throat for a query instead. “All due respect sir, but since Hopps is _allegedly_ the better of us, wouldn’t it make more sense to send _her_ over? Not that I’m selling myself short or anything, but-” 

Bogo cut Nick off. “Sending my best officer to Sahara Square would be shooting myself in the hoof. Besides, I need to see if you’re worth your salt.” A wry grin crawled on Bogo’s face, almost as if he took great pleasure in sending Nick to uncertain doom.

Nick matched Bogo’s grin with a smug one. “So, I guess that means you’ll have to get your wisecracks from elsewhere then, huh? Or maybe we could do a daily mailer? Keep some semblance of order in this madhouse?”

Bogo’s grin vanished. “I’d rather you report to Dromry if you value that hide. Dismissed.” Though Nick was numb to it, he thought about how Judy would take the news. Sahara Square, with its astronomical murder rate, wasn’t exactly the paradise former Mayor Lionheart went on and on about. Ah, how bad could it be? 

He promptly left the office, slid down the railing, and zipped into the locker room. Right after he buttoned up his jacket, he shot Finnick a quick text asking for a ride to Sahara Square. 

_wut 4_ , Finnick texted back almost immediately. 

_Transfer_ , Nick replied. _Honey’ll let me stay at her place. Pick me up from Fluff’s._

_k_

Congruently, Nick texted their mutual friend Honey Badger for a place to sleep as Precinct 8 was more or less down the street from her apartment. A simple _yeah sure, see you_ was her response. Or well, that’s all it needed to be as he pocketed his still buzzing phone and entered the break room with a duffel bag in tow. 

There was Judy, already in her casual outfit, viciously shoveling her salad into her mouth before she noticed Nick’s presence. The starving bunny looked up when he went for the communal refrigerator. 

“What’d the chief say?” Judy inquired, hovering her next bite in front of her lips.

“Ah, nothing.” Nick took notice of the helpless greens vanishing from her bowl. “Hungry, huh?”

“Oh my god! Those bean burgers didn’t do it for me. But this…” Judy crammed a fork full of veggies into her mouth instead of finishing her thought. Nick took a seat across the table and unwrapped his much more modest peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Jeez, slow down! You’ll choke!”

Judy shook her head while pounding her chest. “You didn’t grow up with siblings. I’ll be fine, I swear!” She continued scarfing down the salad. Nick was impressed with the impromptu eating contest. 

“Whatever you say, Carrots. Just know I won’t resuscitate you if a carrot gets stuck in your throat.” Secretly though, he wished he could enjoy the sandwich as much as she enjoyed the salad.

Just then, an announcement from the overhead television snagged his attention. ZNN’s Fabienne Growley had just returned from commercials and prepared to discuss the swearing-in of Mayor-Elect Todd Renard. She stacked her papers neatly on her desk and looked up to the camera. _Good evening, and welcome back. For those of you just joining us, our top story tonight is the swearing-in of Mayor Todd Renard, Zootopia’s first fox Mayor._

Judy watched sporadically but most of her attention was transfixed on Nick who himself was laser-focused on the snow leopard. “It’s a big day for us foxes,” Nick said with a hint of pride. “I don’t regret that endorsement for a second.”

_Having just gone through a tumultuous political cycle, the citizens of Zootopia are ready for life to return to normal. However, not all of Zootopia is eager about having another predator as mayor. Joining us now is Andrew Turnbull, former mayoral candidate and outspoken critic of Todd Renard. Mr. Turnbull, you said you had some comments regarding the election?_

Coming up beside her screen was a familiarly brutish bull who could never pull off a look of sophistication no matter how hard he tried. Nick’s face twisted with slight disgust when ZNN unwisely gave Turnbull the platform. _Thank you, Fabienne, and yes I do. Firstly, I want to congratulate my opponent for a fantastic and memorable race, though I firmly believe that I was robbed of the seat. To put it bluntly, the citizens were emotionally manipulated by Renard’s ‘assault’ from a concerned citizen who wisely advised him to step away. It’s a shameful display and I think it signals a troubling future for Zootopia. I don’t see Chief Bogo writing checks to violent criminals because their ‘rights’ were violated._

Fabienne chimed in. _But it was one of your supporters that pepper-sprayed Renard unprovoked. I also recall you never condemned them for the assault._

Turnbull quirked an eyebrow, seemingly amused by the allegation. He made no effort to conceal his condescension. _Let me explain something to you; I’m not responsible for the actions of Mr. Cabra or those who support me. I didn’t call Mr. Cabra and tell him to pepper-spray my opponent! And frankly, I shouldn’t have to answer for this! There are violent_ **_predators_ ** _who have done worse that are walking free!_

“Change it,” Judy groaned between chews. “That creep makes my skin crawl.”

“His supporters say otherwise,” Nick replied in jest. “He’s a god among them.”

“Sure, a god who sought a certain bunny’s endorsement. That same bunny crushing his dreams like the little insect he is.”

Nick turned to Judy with shock, pride, and jubilation. “No way…” He’d just about died then and there from laughter. Had he taken another bite of his sandwich, he would have surely choked to death, though Judy would sit there and shake her head all the same.

“My god, what a world!” After wiping his eyes, Nick grabbed the remote. The channel flip couldn’t have been timed better as Turnbull was stuck on the word “insect” as it changed to National Public Broadcasting. 

The correspondent on screen was in the middle of a report. The ticker on the bottom simply read _Jakour Civil War Escalates._ Nick recognized the anchor as Chen Pho, a former ZNN contributor who specialized in international stories before the panda was replaced with a much friendlier looking jaguar. 

_-the continuing civil conflict with the reptilian nation of Jakour. Calima has vowed ‘violent retaliation’ against Priscavario, who allegedly sent government backed terrorists to attack a thermal suit convoy out of the Caliman capital of Mizrin. The mounting tension has the peacekeeping country of Mozanic worried the bloodshed will spill over to their soil._

Nick shook his head. The thought of war brought unpleasant memories of the night howler incident that only recently gripped Zootopia. But what he saw on TV looked so much worse. Pho’s continued coverage was accompanied by images of decimated buildings, tanks roaming the streets, and reptilian soldiers engaged in battle. Who knew if pred/prey relations in the United States of Amammalca could devolve to such a point? He hoped to never find out.

“Have you ever met a reptile, Nick?” Judy inquisitively asked. He took a second to acknowledge the question—somehow the report captivated him.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, a few contractors on temporary visas. They never strayed from the hotter districts. Ectotherms. You know what that means, Carrots?” 

“Ectotherms? Hmm, let me think…” Judy tapped her chin with the fork as she feigned ignorance. Nick rested his head on his open paw. He knew she knew, but her incompetence was convincing, if only for a moment. 

“Gee, I wish I could remember high school biology. Darn it, I just can’t remember that ectotherms depend on their environment for thermal regulation. If only there was a clue that told me their metabolism is ⅕ the rate of an endotherm’s. Ohh!” Judy milked it as long as she could but keeping a straight face became a struggle. Finally, she gave up with her tongue between her teeth, prompting a warm chuckle from Nick. 

“You’re such a lovable scamp,” he said as he finished his sandwich, though his lingering chuckle made that a little harder.

“So you _do_ love me, then?” Judy rested her cheeky smile on interlocked fingers.

“How could I not love such a dummy?”

“Har har, I’m a dummy who was valedictorian thrice. But maybe I _became_ one since I spend so much time with a bad influence.”

“I do remember when you called yourself a ‘dumb bunny’ and meant it.”

“Well, that time was warranted. But this attack on my character here and now shall not stand!” Though she didn’t mean to, her fist gently slammed the table, rattling her fork and bowl.

“Your fault for roping me into all this. I was just buying a jumbo-pop for my 40-year-old dwarf son.”

Judy giggled with an embarrassing little snort she hoped Nick wouldn’t hear. He most certainly did, but he brushed it off as just another Judy-ism. Although to be fair, he found it absolutely precious that she’d snort so often without realizing it. Her gray cheeks turned a faint pink as she rebuffed his comment with a wisecrack of her own. “If only you hadn’t intentionally forgotten your wallet that day; you’d still be hawking those pawpsicles. Oh woe-is-you.”

“Had I known that $15 would cost me a lifetime, I would’ve paid that pachy-germ a million times over.”

“With all that unreported income, right?” Judy didn’t wait for Nick’s reaction before rubbing the tax evasion in. “Ha! Not so slick now, are ya?” 

He paused with a smile and looked to his smug partner. “That tax form… I always wondered how you got ahold of that.”

“I have my ways!” Judy winked with an audible ting, though that could have been from a commercial for all he knew. He got up to toss his baggie as Judy quickly rinsed her bowl before putting it in her bag. “Ready to go?” She motioned for the door. 

“After you,” said Nick with an overly formal bow. 

“Oh wow, such good manners!”

“Better you than me if someone’s paperwork comes crashing down.” They chortled as they headed out for the night. Everyone walking past bid them farewell, especially Benjamin Clawhauser, who always gushed over them. Though the plump cheetah knew the word ‘cute’ wasn’t an appropriate thing to call them, he couldn’t think of a better word to describe the cute little critters and their adorable antics. 

The train ride and subsequent walk to Judy’s place was uneventful. Throughout the journey, there was a nagging he couldn’t shake. He gave in to this nagging and wondered what he forgot. After much head-scratching, he brushed it off, hoping for something to jog his memory later. Once they finally reached the Grand Pangolin Arms, they stopped at the entrance. “You know you’re more than capable of walking yourself home.”

Judy perked up. “I would if I didn’t like your company so much.”

“You like my company?” Nick scoffed at the overly-enthusiastic bunny. “Sounds like a degenerative brain disease.” 

“If that’s the case, I hope it’s never cured because it makes me happy!” Judy gave a big silly grin that melted Nick’s ice-cold heart just a little bit. 

“I’m impressed. Even in the face of grim hypotheticals, you’ll find a silver lining.”

“You should try it sometime, Mr. Pessimist!” she rocked back and forth on her heels. 

The fox did a circular motion with his wrist, encompassing the little bunny’s entirety with two fingers. “I see silver all the time and it does me no good.” 

“Sounds like you’re not trying hard enough.” 

“Sure,” huffed Nick. “The day I see the glass half full is the day homo sapiens invade the planet and take over.” With that, he broke away with a leisurely wave. “Sleep tight, kiddo!”

“Good night, Slick! See you tomorrow!”

That last word stopped him dead in his tracks. All the color washed from his face and out through his toes. _Tomorrow… oh…_ Nick grabbed the back of his head as he hissed through his teeth. He cringed for letting that little bit of news leak out his ears. Judy was utterly confused. 

“Yeah, about that…” Nick winced, knowing full well this will upset her. “Bogo’s... transferring me to Precinct 8 to cover someone’s parental leave… I start tomorrow…”

Sure enough, her ears dropped with a seemingly neutral tone overpowering her once chipper one. “Oh…”

Nick tried his damndest to overcorrect. “Judy, I’m so sorry. I would’ve told you sooner but it slipped my mind until just now and-”

She threw her paws up to cut the rambling off. “No no no, it’s ok… Boy, Sahara Square, huh? Let me tell you, I am not the least bit envious, having to work in that sweltering heat all day.” Her paws fell onto her hips with a little sway.

“Ugh,” he said with a playful tug on his shirt collar, “I’m sweating just thinking about it.” The damage was done. It was only a matter of time before Judy throttled him. 

“Not to mention the staggering crime rate out there! You’ll have your paws full.” Judy’s own paws stayed glued to her hips as if she was keeping herself together. Emotions were undoubtedly swelling within, but she maintained control. The last thing she’d want is for this already awkward situation to get worse. 

“Yep…” Nick looked at his open paws, then back to her. “Certainly not looking forward to any of it. But, it is what it is.” Nick had another thing to say, but his buzzing phone cut him off. Right on cue was the ever grumpy Finnick and the property-value killing roach on wheels, waiting around the corner. 

“Welp, that’s my ride,” he faltered as he looked up, expecting anything but a positive response from Judy. What he saw was Judy’s paw clasped onto her shoulder coupled with an off-kilter frown. Nick’s stomach dropped as that look always prefaced a river of tears. It’s not like he can call Bogo and demand he reconsider, though the idea crossed his mind. Especially now, looking at that pathetic face. So much for being an optimist. Though in her defense, the news was thrown at her rather abruptly, so it wasn’t  _ completely _ out of character. Nick wished so badly he could say what she wanted to hear, but all he had to offer was a reluctant salutation. “I guess I’ll see you in three months then.” 

He tried to leave, but his legs were cemented to the pavement. A brick to the gut would’ve hurt less than all this. He furrowed his brow knowing he couldn’t leave her like that, all glum and despondent. “Oh, come here you.” He reached for her embrace. Judy instantly latched onto Nick’s chest and squeezed as tightly as she could. The suffocating but sincere hug comforted him as he softly pet her. 

“I’d be lying if I said I won’t miss you,” hummed Nick. 

Then, the moment he dreaded most finally came: a muffled but heart-wrenching cry from Judy. Her weeping almost moved Nick to tears himself. He gently released his grip and knelt down to hold her damp cheeks.

“Hey, c’mon, don't be like that. It’s not like I’m leaving forever.”

Those glassy, lavender eyes couldn’t bear to look at him. She burrowed into one of his soft, cozy paws. “You don’t know that…”

“What do you mean?” He knew exactly what she meant and it very much unsettled him deep down. 

Judy pulled away from the safety of her hiding spot. She made a valiant effort to regain composure, though it proved futile. “It’s gotten so bad out there a-and officers are quitting faster than Bogo can send them and… m-maybe he should have sent  _ me _ ins-” 

A thumb gingerly placed over her lips put a stop to the ramble. “You’re overthinking this,” said Nick. He took a moment to process what she said, then continued. “Also, did you just insinuate I can’t look after myself?” 

Judy’s nod coaxed more tears to roll down onto Nick’s paw.

Nick hummed with a mellow smile. “Come on, you know I’ve been around the block. I hustled these mean streets when you were in diapers!” The reassurance gave way to smug conviction, all before it came crumbling down with a slight choke and sniffle. His smart-aleck reply stayed in his mind, instead offering comfort in his trademark way. “It honestly warms my heart knowing you care so much about me, but I’ll be fine. Bogo feels I’m the best cop to send out there and, by golly, I refuse to let that humorless grump down!” Confidence beamed across Nick’s face, which lifted Judy’s spirits a little, though there were still tears wetting his paw. 

“You bunnies… so emotional I swear,” he cooed as he dabbed the neckerchief into her damp fur, putting it in her free paw when he finished “Hold onto this for me. I’ll need it when I’m back, ok?”

“God,” hiccuped Judy, “what a trope…” She gripped the neckerchief as tightly as she held Nick earlier. Though a smirk broke through briefly, it didn’t fully cheer her up. That got Nick to come up with another enticer. 

“How about this: I’ll call you after every shift. We can discuss our days, hang out, anything you want. Sound good?” Though he kept an easy look on his face, he felt anything but. In the back of his mind, he thought that this was the greatest challenge to arise from the transfer and that the actual thing would be a cakewalk; at least that’s how he coped with the idea.

A weak, yet optimistic smile took shape as Judy dried her eyes, easing Nick’s tension almost entirely. “Yeah,” she meekly replied. “I’d like that.” 

“I knew you would.” He patted her on the shoulder—both felt better about the predicament. Not a second later, an off-key horn blared over the atmosphere. Judy peeked around Nick to see the Lobos van as he let out a chuckle. “Ah, he’s waited long enough.”

Judy let out a gasp. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” She latched onto Nick one last time. 

“Heh, it’s ok. He’ll understand.”

Nick stood up and held Judy’s shoulders while maintaining eye-contact. “I’ll text you as soon as I’m settled in, ok?”

A solemn nod showed her understanding. “Bye Nick… Please be careful!”

“I’ll be super-duper, extra careful just for you, Carrots!” Nick said with a pompous skip in his step towards the waiting van. His wave goodbye paused briefly to toss his duffle and himself into the van.

“Yo.” Finnick sat on his phone, browsing whatever auction listings he could find to pass the time.

“Hey.” Nick leaned out of the van to resume his wave. Judy returned his wave with the neckerchief, which amused him a bit. He felt like a sailor shipping out to war, all too appropriate given the stories surrounding Precinct 8.

The Lobos, with its perpetual backfire that couldn’t be remedied, resisted Finnick’s demand for first gear until he ground it to dust and set off. “Honey’s place, right?”

Judy disappeared around the corner, which finally allowed Nick to put his feet up and relax. “Correct. She invited you, too.”

“She did?”

“Only if you’re interested.”

Finnick shook a little as he pondered his options. “Hmm, I dunno. I gotta get back to the shop soon. Donovan’s gonna pass the fuck out.”

That’s when Nick remembered that Finnick met a hyena with similar ambitions as a hustler, Donovan Haynes. However, enough run-ins with the law made him want to settle down with a legitimate source of income. Specifically, in the form of a sketchy pawn shop off Tenere Avenue, smack dab in the middle of Red Valley.  _ Golden Silver _ . More than likely it was meant to be “ _ Gold N’ Silver _ ” or something along those lines, but who would care about a detail like that? Certainly not Finnick, the same fox who discovered moldy dishes from under his mattress and ate around the fungus.

Donovan only cared about two things; liquor and his Mallard Westmont coupe. Finnick didn’t care for the fact that his new business partner was a drunk. But because he showed up to work consistently and was a rather intimidating fellow, Finnick kept him around.

“How’s that been working out?” inquired Nick.

“Money’s shit, but it’s steady. I’m amazed we ain’t been robbed yet.”

“Well, with someone like Donny looking over ya, who’d want to mess with my widdle toot toot?”

“Yeah, fuck you too,” Finnick said, stifling a chuckle. From then on, they kept to themselves, the only sound being music from the van’s buzzy speakers. The Lobos bucked in traffic, leaving behind sizable clouds of blue smoke as it rode along. Class 3 and up cars simply rode over the oil-burning bucket, but Class 2s protested with honks and hi-beam flashes of disapproval. Nick was embarrassed that his friend would drive such an awful thing, especially since they knew a competent mechanic. Then again, that mechanic friend drove crap herself.

As traffic thinned out into the night, Finnick broke the silence. “Fuck took you so long back there? You were talkin’ with the rabbit fo’ever.” Nick took offense as Finnick knew damn well what took so long. However, he decided to play it off nonchalantly.

“You know how she is,” Nick said while reading his phone. He found an extensive article about the Jakour conflict that had kept him occupied. Such a disheartening situation out there… 

“All too well, dude.” Finnick recalled when Judy came to him to help find Nick during the night howler fallout. In that much too long conversation, he got more insight into Judy and her emotions than he bargained for. So of course she wouldn’t let her best friend go so easily. “Did she bawl her eyes out?”

Nick lost his place on the article, which frustrated him more than the question. “Ugh. You know she did.” He dropped the phone into his lap and looked out the window, resting his chin in his paw. “I swear, she is too sweet for her own good. The cop life hasn’t hardened her up yet I guess.” Though deep down, he loved that about her. She can still be the sweetest bunny in the world, but a  _ little _ hardening up would benefit. Just not to the point of being a compassionless machine. Maybe like a jaded rose or a scoop of ice cream soaked in whiskey.

“Give it time. But hey, at least you get a vaycay from her, huh?”

“We’ll see,” a dejected Nick sighed. 

The city lights washed over the van’s filth-streaked windows. Nick recognized those outdated bulbs as a sign that this part of town was underfunded. They had just crossed into the outskirts of Sahara Square when Nick noticed the radio was stuck on the mediocre rap station that only played mainstream stuff. A song he once liked before it was played to death came on. “You mind if I change this?”

“Can’t. Dial’s broke. I’m takin’ it to Skye tomorrow.”

Astounding. Of all problems this turd had, surely  _ this _ was the one that needed the most attention. “What a surprise. How long’s it been like that?”

“When’d you join the force?” Finnick asked sarcastically.

Sometimes Nick wondered whether the fennec kept the van in such a state to irritate him. Whether or not that’s true, it was working. “Oh, sweet cheese and crackers…” he muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Nick resumed his watch out the window. Buildings became scarce as rolling dunes and palm trees took their place. This was a view he had seen dozens of times before, but he couldn’t relax anymore. The reality of his situation finally took hold; as a uniformed officer, he would be put in dangerous situations unlike those he and Finnick had ever dealt with. That badge on his chest would be like a target to all the baseheads and gangbangers roaming the streets. The song didn’t help whatsoever.

_Sorry, I’m just scared of the future._

_Till 3005 I got your back, we can do this, hold up._

He put his paw on his chest. Judy’s tears were still there, along with his heartbeat. Nick slipped his sunglasses on to hide the tear that started to form in his eye from Finnick. They couldn’t reach Honey’s place soon enough. Though he wanted to so badly, he refrained from tapping Judy’s number on his phone, instead choosing to linger on her picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song playing on the radio: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tG35R8F2j8k
> 
> I am not afraid of criticism and feedback. If you enjoyed the story, please say so! If not, please say why, I'm always eager to improve.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	2. Work

Sahara Square was exactly like Nick remembered; the affluent Palm Springs Casino and Resort overshadowing the seedy underbelly. Good ol’ Red Valley. Overwrought with criminals and malcontents; differences of opinions settled with rending claws. Or hollow points. Tourists knew to steer clear from any mammal that looked sketchy. Their specism certainly played a part in this fear, but at least it was easy to tell those with bad intentions apart. Hadn’t changed much since Nick’s hustling days, though, those all-too-familiar pops certainly were more common than before. 

Driving into the Oasis Shades apartment complex was a harrowing endeavor, what with the van’s persistent backfire bringing unwanted attention, especially after dark. It was when one particularly nasty looking tiger seemed to peer through him that Nick would send a reassuring text to Judy, despite keeping one eye on the rear view mirror. 

Driving through the crumbling complex, one could see the varying states of decay, each successive building more run-down than the last. In an oddly beautiful way, the unique gang tags of each building complemented the look of hopelessness. 

Finnick rolled up to the doors of 2825 Sinai Street, or so he thought since the numbers had long since fallen off, leaving only hints of their existence behind. Nick took notice of the van not pulling into a parking space. He didn’t bother asking if Finnick was coming up, he already knew the answer. No fur off Nick’s tail, the little guy had a pawnshop to run. That or the sinister looking wolf leaning on the open glass door scared him off. Luckily for Nick, one final backfire distracted the wolf long enough for the little fox to slip through the crack and up the stairs to the ninth floor, forgoing a chance up the flimsy elevator. 

_ 903 _ he recalled as he walked down the musky hall. Just before he reached the door, the badger of the hour emerged, sporting a tattered shirt and sweatpants while holding a basket of unmentionables under her arm. Both were taken by surprise when their eyes met. Instantly, Honey recognized Nick and that oversized duffel bag of his.    
  
“How’d you get in?” she asked with slight concern.    
  
“Doormammal” quipped the sarcastic fox.    
  
Honey’s bewildered face dropped to a grimace as she stormed back into her apartment, Nick’s curiosity letting him in. He almost tripped over the basket she’d dropped on her warpath to the balcony, nearly throwing herself over the railing. “LEVANTE, GET OFF THE FUCKING DOOR!” yelled Honey with a tone so shrill it sent a chill up Nick’s back. He couldn’t help but let out a “heh” as he dropped the bag down beside the couch he was dead set on. A barely audible “my bad! _ ”  _ shouted up as the door slammed shut.

An exhausted yet satisfied Honey shook her head as she came back for the basket. “Sorry you had to hear that,” she sighed. “We’ve had a bunch of break-ins lately.”    
  
“No kidding…” yawned Nick, not the least bit surprised. “Doing laundry?”   
  
“Yeah. I thought you’d take longer. Use the buzzer next time.”   
  
Nick replied with a snap of his fingers and a click of his tongue. “Thanks for letting me crash.”

Honey softened up. “Mhmm. Make yourself at home, I’m gonna be a while.” And with that, she left Nick alone with her fluffy, cloud-like couch which instantly lulled him to sleep. 

Things move rapidly in Precinct 8. Nick barely had time to get to know his fellow officers and Captain Dromry, who said little more than “Hello” to Nick before having him shuffle off to Animal Resources’ for the finalized paperwork. There was one officer he was able to familiarize himself with; Troy Oshawa’s partner Pryce Kubu. Nick knew Troy well enough from water cooler talk, but Pryce was more of a mystery. 

“Yoooo, Wilde! Ready for an IRL bullet hell?” Pryce’s jokes were as annoying as his laugh, but Nick appreciated the hippo’s sense of humor with all the melancholy in the air.

Role call went by in a flash. Dromry didn’t want more than one officer per car during the day as he valued area coverage. Since Bogo couldn’t spare more officers than Nick and a few others, Tropolis County Sheriff’s deputies would provide additional support. Past experience taught Dromry not to place new transfers into the “jungle shift,” his affectionate term for the night shift, where greenhorns were very likely to become red collared or fly a white flag with their tails between their legs. As far as Dromry was concerned, Nick was no different. While his impressive reports instilled _a_ _little_ more confidence than usual, it was the day shift for him, just like the rest. If he proved himself, then gradually Dromry would transition his shift to night and partner him up.

The day shift mostly consisted of poor souls reeling from the night before, hammering ZPD’s phonelines with tips about the latest shooting, robbery, murder, and all other chatic escapdes. That meant a slow, aggravating day for Nick as he’d spend more time taking statements rather than taking action. No matter, he had a duty to uphold, whether it was scribbling addresses or cramming offenders into his cruiser. 

Though who could fit in the back of these things? Precinct 8’s entire fleet consisted of older Herd Columbus models that were at most Class 3 specification; just barely big enough for a wolf to squeeze in. Every last one looked to be well past its prime. The best looking one Nick chose had over 150,000 miles, 8,500 idle hours, and a healthy smattering of dents, scrapes, and peeled paint. A far cry from the much newer and far more capable Conquerors in Precinct 1’s stable. Either that or the Conquerors were reserved for the night shift. Made sense in that regard, a Columbus was more than enough for puttering around during daylight hours. 

Before attempting to wake the slumbering cruiser, Nick did a quick once over. Laptop, check. Radio, check. Lights and sirens, working. Spotlight, passable. Glovebox, cluttered… wait. Sitting on top of stacks of paper was a pack of Beltoise Gold cigarettes with an accompanying lighter. An essential tool for any stressed officer, no doubt, especially for the night shift. The sparks, the warmth, the aroma, Nick basked in nostalgia.

The last time he’d had a smoke was... maybe 10 years ago? Nick never was much of a smoker, unlike Finnick who smoked more than his van. Being more of a socialite, he preferred a menthol to calm his nerves. Both foxes quit when they realized they frequently puffed away the paycheck.  _ Zephyrs were the go-to back then _ he thought. Finnick always mocked him for going with “sissy-sticks” instead of Regals “like a real fox.” Could explain his absurdly deep voice, but who knows? Nick’s comeback was always about “preserving his angelic chords.” Either way, both were equal in lifespan reduction.

“Hmm. Why break the streak?”

Nick slammed the glovebox shut and hit the key. Even with the battle scars, it ran like it just rolled out the factory.  _ Smooth _ . Nick slipped on his sunglasses, ignored the array of trouble lights on the dash, and set off onto the mean streets of Sahara Square.

The one thing he cared about, the air conditioner, was working overtime. As for the rest of the heap? Not exactly a confidence builder. Especially when coming to a stop as the thing shuddered rather violently under braking. Coupled with all the creaks and groans the Columbus made anytime he hit the gas or turned the wheel, Nick was convinced the poor thing would fall apart at the next bump. If the night shift meant having better cruisers to work with, he welcomed danger with open arms.

Expectations were low for the day shift, but even those were shattered by the sheer amount of dead end calls he was sent to. So many upset mothers looking for their sons’ killers, so many witnesses who were tight-lipped. The “code of the streets” was to never talk to the cops under any circumstance—snitches get stitches. Nick lived by this code when he was younger, but even back then he thought it was dumb. If anything, he wouldn’t breathe a word to a cop’s face, but he’d put in a tip anonymously to either benefit himself or help get a scumbag off the street. 

Not the case here. No one cared about anyone but themselves in Red Valley. Wind up in the wrong part of town? That’s a bullet to the chest. Scuff someone’s jacket? Say goodbye to your face. Lash out at a Beastie or SouthClaw OG? You’d be buried in the desert without your organs. In Red Valley, there was no mercy. It was you, your heater, and your homies. Everyone else was a target. Of all the statements gathered throughout the day, there was one consistency; a decommissioned police car on 24s. As far as occupants, the plate number, or anything of value, no one could elaborate. Nothing Nick could do besides let Sahara know to keep an eye out for a blue Aires Wacker, which described about a quarter of Zootopia.

The more calls he was sent to, the worst he felt. Each statement ate away at his conscience. There was a $1 bill burning a hole in his pocket, the going rate for a loose cigarette. Everytime he looked at the glovebox, the same thought ran through his mind.  _ It’s just one, you can have one…  _ Though when temptation crept over, he’d hear Judy scold him.  _ Those are so bad for you! Why would you do that? Wait, you smoked before we met? WHY WOULD YOU START SMOKING AGAIN?! Do you want to die young?! _

All Nick could think then was  _ Yeah yeah, I’m my own fox, Carrots, I don’t need your permission to live. _ Still, sagely advice from little miss know-it-all. Boy would she be livid if she caught him with a cig between his teeth. She was upset enough that he’d forgotten to mention the transfer. What would the sight of him smoking do, cause a stroke? 

Maybe it was all the pessimism in the air, but he missed his partner’s optimistic if naïve view of the world. The more he thought about Judy, the more he wanted her in the passenger seat. Perhaps a text would tide him over? Nick, being the responsible fox that he was, pulled over to the side of the road and whipped out his phone.

Just as he pulled up their impossibly long text history, a seemingly abandoned car with severe front-end damage caught his eye. Nick couldn’t tell the make and model from where he sat. The area looked to be some sort of industrial park given all the warehouses and wide-open streets. GPS indicated he was on the corner of 81 st Street and Ripple Parkway. To the less observant, the wreck would blend in with the other shabby cars dotted along the curb. Perfect place to dump a stolen car or abandon it after a hit and run.

To not arouse suspicion, Nick pretended to wrap up what he was doing on his phone and continued down the street. As he passed the car, he took a picture of its license plate through his side-view mirror. Picture quality was good enough to run a plate check, which confusingly came back to a black Lobos Grazer. Definitely not the tan Sobel station wagon the plate was attached to. 

He came back onto 81 st and Ripple and pulled up in front of the Sobel. Up to this point, he was unable to get a hold of anyone over the radio. It seemed even the day shift was up to its neck in trouble. Each time Nick pressed the talk button, he heard a buzz instead of the triple beep, which forced a groan. Maybe it was a sign he should note the car’s location and have a tow truck hook it later, but his conscience was nagging him to press on. Finally, against all belief, he heard that magic triple beep.

“41-Nancy to Square.” Dispatch had no way of knowing this calm and collected fox was beyond exasperated.

A direct but friendly female responded.  _ 41-Nancy go ahead. _

“I have what looks like an abandoned vehicle in Dunes Industrial Park. Have there been any recent incidents or accidents involving a tan Sobel station wagon?”

The dispatcher took a second to respond.  _ There was an incident taken by an officer over in Sandy Ridge about an hour ago, believe that was a hit and run. No suspect vehicle was listed in that report. _

“Ok, because this car’s got severe front end damage with a license plate from a Lobos truck. Smells like it’s burning fluids too, like it was just running. Stage a rollback for me. 81 st and Ripple, just south.”

_ Copy. 41-Nancy requesting 11-52 for possible 207 vehicle in Dunes Industrial Park. 81 _ _ st _ _ and Ripple, just south. _

With that, Nick hung up the paw set. Whether he would get a truck or not remained to be seen. For now, he climbed out of his cruiser for a closer look. 

The right side front end was pushed in a good 18 to 20 inches. Along the side of the car was a massive scrape that took the mirror and part of the trim off. Overall, the car was an utter wreck but drivable in a pinch. All leaking fluids were hot, meaning this pile was recently parked here. Very recently. 

As Nick did a second lap around the car, someone inside it caught his eye; a bobcat sprawled across the front seats. Given that he kept his sunglasses on, it made sense that he hadn’t noticed the sleeping mammal earlier. They were fast asleep in an uncomfortable position. Nick expected a strong scent of alcohol to permeate from their breath.

He pulled out his flashlight and rhythmically tapped on the window. At first, they slept through the sound. A second round of taps rustled them a little more, perhaps finally awake but not wanting to acknowledge Nick so he would lose interest and go away. Finally, the disheveled occupant couldn’t ignore the tapping and arose with a groggy grimace.

“Roll down the window,” Nick ordered. The bobcat chose not to do that, instead flicking their wrist at Nick. Not a problem, Nick raised his voice to speak through the glass. “What happened here? Did you have an accident?” If only there was a better term for “intentionally causing a wreck” that wouldn’t scare them off.

“Leave me alone, it’s not illegal to sleep in my car,” the muffled bobcat rudely snapped. Nick expected him to have a deeper, less whiny voice.

“So this  _ is _ your car then? What’s the story with the license plate?”

“Huh?”

“That plate you got on the back isn’t for this car and you don’t look like a buffalo.”

He didn’t respond. This wasn’t annoying Nick so much as it was worrying him. There was no shortage of jerks who clammed up lest they incriminate themselves. However, this was serious; the bobcat could still have the keys in the ignition, ready to take off and cause more harm. Just as he was ready to order the driver out, the radio chirped.

_ 41-Nancy, I have a rollback on stand-by. What’s your status? _

“Speaking with the driver. Send it over, same location.”

_ Copy. 11-52 cleared for vehicle recovery on 81 _ _ st _ _ and Ripple, south. Tan Sobel station wagon. _

Amazingly, this got the driver’s attention and he became irate. The bobcat made Nick’s life slightly easier by opening the window a crack. Bottom shelf whiskey was the cologne of choice for this burnout. “You’re calling a tow truck?!”

Nick had enough. “Open the door.”

“Fuck you, little bitch!”

“HEY!” Nick tugged at the locked door handle in vain. “OPEN THE DOOR!” The bobcat went for the key. The fox prepared to sprint back to his cruiser.

_ click click click _

Every flick of the bobcat’s wrist yielded more clicks. Nick was too overcome with relief that the Sobel was dead, otherwise he would have been amused. 

“FUCK!!!”

“OPEN THE DOOR!” Just then, Nick’s eyes laser focused a black object clutched in the driver’s paw. His stomach dropped as he knew exactly what was about to happen.  _ Oh, here we go… _

POP POP POP POP POP

The side windows blew out, showering Nick in jagged shards of glass. Bullets cracked past as he frantically backpedaled, nearly stumbling over himself.  _ Get to cover, get to cover!! _ Luckily, an older Parotia sedan was on the opposite side of the street.

“41-Nancy, 10-98!”

Shots pelted the parked car as Nick took refuge. In between the shock and adrenaline, he was grateful no one else attempted communication over the radio.

Several beeps later, the dispatcher responded.  _ 41-Nancy advising 10-98 on 81 _ _ st _ _ and Ripple, just south. I need units to start. _

_ 24-David en-route. _

_ 35-Charles, wrapped up my call, headed over now. _

_ 24-David, 35-Charles, keep the channel clear for 41-Nancy. 11-52, stand-by until Code 4. _

Nick recognized 35-Charles as Pryce. 24-David was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t place him. Each bullet that slammed into the Parotia’s fender made Nick gulp harder to keep his heart from escaping his throat. All the metal in the world between him and the shooter did little to stop the hyperventilation. Suddenly the car dropped a couple inches with a harsh hiss. The corner light blew out, causing Nick to scurry away from the fender and closer to the passenger front door.   
  
_ God, God! _ How the guy  _ still  _ had ammunition to spare was unbelievable. Had to be an extended magazine, no other way. Despite the barrage, a heart attack would sooner kill him than the suspect—given that they were practically side by side and Nick wasn’t hit. That meant all the bobcat could manage was point the business end away from his face and hope for the best. Regardless, Nick didn’t dare to get a line of sight on him as even a broken clock is accurate twice a day.

It seemed the assault would go on forever. At the current rate, there would be nothing left for Nick to hide behind. It wasn’t so much the fear of getting shot, but that only way out now was the one thing he promised himself he’d never do; pull his gun in the line of duty. Up to this very moment, there was never a need to. Diplomacy worked wonders in Downtown, even with the rowdiest crowds. 

It was at that moment Nick realized that he’d in fact already drawn his gun. When he took it out mystified him. It was lighter than usual too.

_ God…  _ he thought with a disappointed sigh.  _ So much for that…  _ The privilege of retirement without firing a shot was long gone. 

But given the situation, Nick could forgive himself for the necessity. It’s one thing to fire back for self-defence. It’s a whole different story to intentionally put someone down—even if he was a threat.    
  
_ God, please... _   
  
Just as he gathered the nerve to cognitively squeeze the trigger, something unexpected caught his ear; an eerie silence, save for a distant ZPD siren’s echo.  _ Did he run off? _ Nick took a deep breath and peered over the hood, just enough to see if the bobcat was still there. He wasn't visible, but he could hear him fumbling with another magazine. Nick took advantage of the ceasefire to check how many rounds he had left.

_ Three.  _ 7 rounds spent just like that. Another look from behind cover revealed a very consistent bullet pattern along the doors.  _ Oh damn, I still got it _ . That he was a crack shot under pressure amazed him. Not since the academy had he fired his gun. But now was not the time to boast about marksmanship or whine about losing his membership to some pretentious club. There wasn’t much Parotia left to hide behind. However, with only 3 rounds left, every bullet mattered. Had he known how today would go, there would be another magazine sitting on his belt. The only course of action is a cover change to the Columbus, which had ballistic paneling that would better absorb bullets. 

_ All units responding to the 10-98, hold traffic for 81 _ _ st _ _. _

_ Right, like traffic’s a big problem _ he thought. He quieted the radio to avoid alerting the suspect. As quietly as possible, he snuck over to Columbus and settled behind the rear bumper.

As far as Abel knew, the cop was cowering behind that old piece of shit across the street. All that was left was to shoot the fucker dead and _…then what?_ Abel thought. _Why not just run off? No, fuck that won’t work. Can’t ditch the bags._ _The plan’s gone to shit, I’m fucked. Hakan’s gonna fucking kill me! Could’ve fucking dropped off the load first, then get shitfaced, but no!_ _A fifth of whiskey to calm me down, good fucking idea! Too bad that fucking Beever came out of nowhere!_ _God fucking dammit!!_ Freedom, however brief at this point, was all he had. That, and a fresh magazine. As soon as the slide clicked back into position, Abel took aim, ready to fire. He wasn't eager to spray and pray with this final magazine, even with 50 rounds at the helm. _Where are you, little bitch?_

“GET ON THE GROUND!” Nick rang out.

_ There! _

Nick winced as the suspect unleashed another bulletstorm, though directed at the wrong car. Line of sight was established; the suspect had his body pressed against the back of the Sobel, right behind the cargo area. It took far too long for Nick to pull himself out of cover, just enough to line up his shot. 

BANG BANG

There was no way of knowing if he made his mark as Nick snapped right back behind the bumper. His heart outpaced his lungs, though he felt safe to assume he’d be ok until backup arrived. Shots continued to ring out, though the cadence of bangs became irregular. Almost none of the shots sounded like they landed, as if the suspect’s accuracy dropped to zero. Suddenly, a blood curdling scream rang out. 

“CLEAR THE AREA, STAY LOW!” yelled Nick. Innocent civilians getting tied up in all this was the last thing he needed. A quick look showed no pedestrians running amok.

The extent of the damage to the Parotia was shocking. Bullet holes peppered the entire driver’s side. Both tires were flat. The corners of the front and rear bumpers lay on the curb along with broken glass and pieces of trim. The sorry state of the thing made Nick feel bad as every bullet that struck it would come out of his paycheck. Really though, all he wanted was for the years he’d lost from stress to come back.   
  
Backup was just around the corner. Whoever came first, Pryce or the other guy, it didn’t matter. Having anyone else at his side was a godsend. 

Finally, a Conqueror rounded the corner of 81 st and charged up to Nick before screeching to a halt. Relief washed over him with a hint of envy at the sight of the superior cruiser. Sure enough, Pryce hopped out and took cover behind the hood, his gun at the ready.

“Damn, Wilde! Not a day in Sahara and you’re already starting shit?” Pryce couldn’t help himself.

“Shut up,” snapped Nick. “Stay behind cover!”

“How many shooters?”

“Just one.”

Pryce peeked over his cruiser’s hood. “It’s not that bobcat writhing on the ground, is it?”

Nick glared at Pryce at first, thinking this was another stupid joke. Then he craned his neck around the bumper and saw the very same thing Pryce saw; the bobcat, who was blasting with reckless abandon moments earlier, had thrown his pistol aside in favor of his hemorrhaging hip. Nick was surprised he hadn’t heard the suspect’s cries from earlier, with the siren drowning out any noise after that stray pedestrian wandered onto…

_ Oh… _

“FUCK! AAAHHH!!!” He latched onto his hip as blood gushed out between his fingers. The gun was just beyond reach. Just as Nick suspected, a high capacity magazine jutted out the handle like a pawpsicle stick. Thrown a considerable distance away was the second extended magazine. Theoretically, the bobcat could scoot over to the gun and let out a couple more rounds if given the chance. Nick wouldn’t let that happen. 

“STAY ON THE GROUND! DO NOT REACH FOR THE GUN!” shouted Nick.

“FUCK YOU, MAN!” the bobcat replied, coupled with a lengthy whine.

Another distant but closing siren caught Nick’s attention. On the opposite end of 81 st was an unmarked Aires Stampede charging in. It cut hard left so the passenger side was facing the Sobel.  _ A detective? _ Nick thought, recalling that the Stampedes were reserved for the gumshoes. The answer to who this detective was climbed out of the driver’s seat and took cover behind the engine; Ash Wolford, sporting a suave blazer and badge hanging around his neck. He saw Nick and Pryce hiding behind their respective cars and huffed. He was about to speak with them over the radio until he heard that that characteristic buzz he detested so much.

_ 41-Nancy, I need fire here ASAP! 81 _ _ st _ _ and Ripple, south. I have one subject; bobcat. Gunshot wound to the hip I think. _

_ 81 _ _ st _ _ and Ripple, south, units continue to hold traffic for 81 _ _ st _ _. Fire and safety lieutenant, copy? _

Wolford attempted communication again, but evidently Nick wasn’t done spilling the minuta.

_ Be advised, suspect is down in critical condition. Severe bleeding from the gunshot wound. _

_ Copy, subject is down in critical condition. Fire is en-route to 81 _ _ st _ _ and Ripple, south. _

At this point, Wolford was content with being kept in the dark. Then, as if his mind was read, Nick poked around his cover and held up five fingers. Wolford correctly interpreted this as Channel 14.

“What’s the story? Shooter’s down?” asked Wolford.

_ You can see ‘em from where you are, can’t you? _ replied Nick, making no attempt to hide his shaky yet sarcastic tone.

“I can see him crying like a little bitch, yeah. No other subjects?”

_ None. Just the one. _

“Right, so what then? We just stand around?”

_ I’m waiting for fire to show up. _

Wolford put his radio down and eyed the crybaby.  _ He’s not gonna make it, Wilde _ he thought, having seen many gunshot victims. He knew when it was bad and one definitely was; the whole sidewalk was a darker shade of red than the slate gray it should’ve been. Nevertheless, his gun was trained on the suspect. It was Nick’s show, after all.

Things looked bleak for the bobcat. Nick noticed his weaker cries and increasingly laborious breathing. He tensed up, knowing that if fire didn’t show up soon, the bobcat would die. However, the suspect was within reach of the gun.  _ What do I do? What would Carrots do? Wait for fire? No, he’ll be dead before they get here. I gotta save the idiot myself. Dammit! The rabbit would do the same! _

Pryce chimed in. “You might want to call a hearse instead of an ambulance.” To the hippo’s surprise, Nick snapped up and grabbed a first aid kit from the Columbus’s trunk. 

“I’m gonna render aid, cover me!” commanded Nick.

“Woah, hang on! Let me get a shield at least!” Pryce scrambled to the trunk of his cruiser.

Nick waited for Pryce to overtake him before he radioed Wolford. “I’m going in. We’re gonna try and slow the bleeding.” Wolford threw up an “okay” gesture. Truthfully, he was disappointed with Nick’s desire to keep that waste of a functional heart beating, but kept a neutral face.

“OK,” Nick bellowed from behind Pryce’s shield, “do you-”

“DON’T YOU FUCKING MOVE, DIPSHIT, OR I WILL LIGHT YOU UP!” howled Wolford, startling Nick into taking aim at the suspect until he glared at Wolford with alarm.

“FUCKING BITCH,” yelled the bobcat, “I’M NOT FUCKING MOVING!!” The scream took the last ounce of strength left in him. He dropped his head on the sidewalk, ready to pass out.

Nick re-holstered his gun, clicked the safety on, and spoke to him again. “I want to help you, but I need to know if you have any other weapons on you!”

“Nooooo… ugh…” he moaned. That was as good as a surrender to Nick. He clicked the radio back to Square’s frequency just before taking his position beside the bobcat.

“41-Nancy, attempting life saving measures on the subject until fire gets here.”

Working as fast as possible, Nick put on a pair of gloves, rolled up his sleeves, pulled the suspect’s paws back, and opened his shirt to put a thick towel on the wound. Pryce secured the gun and empty magazine, then knelt by the suspect.

“Put pressure on that,” ordered Nick. Pryce applied maximum pressure without crushing the smaller mammal. Having not performed life saving measures in a long time, he wondered whether they should dig the bullet out. Nick top priority was keeping the bobcat conscious. He slipped a rolled-up towel under his head and held his bloody paw. “I’m gonna overlook the fact that you tried killing me earlier, okay? Medics will be here soon.”

“God,” he moaned, “I’m s-so sorry…” The alcohol on his breath overpowered the metallic smell in the air.

Nick continued over the now sobbing bobcat. “Is that a genuine apology, or is that the bullet talking?”   
  
“I’m sorry… I don’t want to die… please…”   
  
“You’re not going to die, I won’t let that happen!”

The suspect attempted to muster up a sentence, but only a gargle came out. His eyelids dropped shut and went limp. Nick, terrified, rapidly slapped his cheeks and squeezed his paw.

“Hey, hey! Stay with me! C’mon, talk to me. What’s your name?”

Slowly but surely, the suspect woke up. “Abel…”

“Abel what?”

“Furnandez…”

“Abel Furnandez? Ok. How old are you?”

“T-twenty-eight…”

“Ok, ok. You have kids?”

“No…”

While Nick talked to Abel, Pryce changed to a clean towel. He and Nick exchanged concerned looks when they saw the once white towel completely red. Regardless, Nick kept going.   
  
“No kids? Why’s that?”    
  
“Don’t want ‘em…” Abel put on a faint smirk, slightly raising Nick’s confidence.    
  
Meanwhile, Wolford listened in on the conversation. He almost chuckled at Nick’s increasingly personal questions towards the degenerate. Then the questions became less personal and more towards motive. Textbook example of buttering up a fool for a confession.  _ Not bad _ he thought.

“Ok, 28-year-old Abel Furnandez from Canyon Bluffs, with no kids, no job, and whose favorite Gnatflix show is  _ House of Cardinals _ , were you drinking today?”

“Y-yeah… I was scared…”

Nick was puzzled but kept it from twisting his face. “Scared? Of what, Abel? Hit and run? DUI?”

“No… Fucking Deacons, man… I was… driving guns for them…”

Pryce spoke up, “that’s one of the smaller gangs ‘round here. If they got guys like him running around, they gotta be struggling.”

Nick turned back to Abel. “So you’re a gun runner for the Deacons then?”

Abel nodded. “Yeah... there’s bags... in the trunk…”

Pryce looked over to Wolford and motioned for the Sobel. The wolf holstered his gun and walked over to the station wagon’s trunk. Sure enough, three duffel bags of varying size sat inside. He pulled them onto the street, each heavier than the last. A quick inspection confirmed they were highly illegal guns, ready to be put to use. Nick looked to the bags at his feet before turning back to Abel.

“And where’s all that going?”

Abel took a series of deep breaths. “S-some cat... Hakan or something…”

“Handsome Hakan?!” Pryce blurted out.

“Y-yeah, that’s the guy…”

An almost elated look morphed Pryce’s face. “That’s an OG… a top lieutenant…”

_Sounds like a massive bust waiting to_ _happen_ Nick thought.

“I got more… on my phone…”

A quick search in Abel’s pocket turned up a flip phone worth more than its measly weight in gold. Times, locations, names, money exchanged, the whole nine yards. Any prosecutor would salivate at the sight and Nick was holding it on his paw.

“You did a very good thing, helping us like that. I’m proud of you.” In reality, Nick was blown away that this poor cat sang like the opera. Wolford had to be impressed with Nick’s interrogation skills if he was listening. Any other detective would’ve killed for information like this, though Nick wasn’t far off from doing that, having shot the guy to get to this point. 

“Am I going to jail?” Abel choked up, knowing the answer wasn’t good.

“You’re looking at serious time, Abel.” Nick almost felt bad for Abel, but the cat made his bed and had to lie in it. Unfortunately for Abel, attempted murder of an officer carried a hefty sentence. Frankly, Nick wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep if Abel was put away forever. 

Abel looked to have regretted everything he said. “Fuck, man… fuck…”

“But,” Nick continued, “if you help us put more people away, you might catch a break.” 

“Ok…” Abel squeezed Nick’s paw hard as he could. The fox felt reassurance that Abel walked back from the light. Pryce changed to a fresh towel and kept the pressure on.

“You’re gonna make it, Abel. Promise me you’ll change for the better after this. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Don’t throw it away.”

“Yeah,” Abel nodded. “Thank you… I’m sorry…”

Just then, Nick felt a hoof tap his shoulder. “We can take it from here, officer,” said an urgent voice. Nick was embarrassed he didn’t hear them show up, but he was all too happy to let the three chitals take over. A glance at one of their shirts revealed the name ‘Nagole.’ The stories those three could tell… 

Nick watched them load up Abel onto a gurnee and wheel it into the waiting ambulance, where they wasted no time. Whatever they talked about was drowned out by the ambulance's clattery idle. Nick was transfixed on the working professionals until he felt a pat on his shoulder from a large grey paw.

“Nice job, Wilde,” said Wolford with a light pat.

Nick shook the remnants of trance out of his head. “Just another day in the uniform,” he replied nonchalantly.

The wolf scoffed. “If it were up to me, I’d let the fucker bleed out. Scum like that should be wiped off the planet.”

Somehow Nick wasn’t surprised by what Wolford said. “That’s cold.” Nick wondered if one of the medics heard that.

“You know what line of work we’re in? You expect me to have a sunny disposition?”

“Well, now I don’t.”

Wolford put his paws in his pockets and leveled with Nick’s face. “Listen, when you’ve worked Homicide as long as I have, seen the things I’ve seen, done by shitheads like that, you’d wish for ‘em all to drop dead. They don’t respect anyone’s life, not even their own. Case in point when he tried to-”

Suddenly, a ringing shut him up. “I gotta take this,” he said as he walked back to his cruiser, phone in his paw. The vaguely rude gesture reminded Nick to radio the all clear. He leaned his head towards the receiver on his shoulder and waited for the triple beep.

“41-Nancy, medics are on scene treating the subject. Code 4. Rollback’s safe for pickup if it’s still waiting.”

_ Copy. 41-Nancy advising Code 4 on 10-98 call. 11-52 cleared for 207 pick-up with Tropolis County escort. Captain Dromry is requesting 10-17 ASAP. _

“Got it. Calling him now.” No surprise that Dromry wanted a word about the situation. It only took a second for Dromry to pick up the phone. 

“What’s this about a shooting you were involved in?” Dromry asked.

“Just a routine traffic stop that went wrong fast. I can guarantee you it was Abel that did the hit and run in Sandy Ridge.”

“So this guy tried killing you over a hit and run? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re absolutely right. The real meat here is that he’s an errand boy for the Deacons. I’ve got the name and address of a top lieutenant he’s delivering three bags of guns to in the next few hours.”

Dromry fell silent. Nick held his tongue until the Captain spoke again. “I see… that’s incredible… and on your first day too.”

“Yeah,” Nick chuckled, “and I would’ve missed all this had I not turned down 81 st . Guess my partner’s luck rubbed off on me. Anyway, I’m ready to appreh-”

“Oh, no no no!,” Dromry interjected, “you’re to go with the suspect and book ‘em. Pryce and Ash will rendezvous with Tropolis deputies at the Nile Shopping Strip and move in for the arrest.”

“Sir, I can handle the-”

“Were it not your first day, I’d let you go along. After what happened, you’re gonna need a screening. I’ve lost too many transfers over similar circumstances and I’ll be damned if you quit because of this.”

Nick felt a hit on his pride. He wasn’t like those  _ other _ cops, and certainly wasn’t  _ broken _ after this shooting. “I can assure you, sir, I’m perfectly fine.” 

“Good, then you’ll have no problem doing as I tell you to. Come back to the station as soon as your replacement shows up at the hospital.”

“Yes sir,” Nick agreed, fighting the disappointment down. A massive bust would be the perfect thing to rub into Judy’s face, but Dromry’s arbitrary orders had to be followed. 

While Nick conversed with Dromry, Wolford wrapped up his call and approached Pryce. Having a name and address for a gun running operation wouldn’t be something left to chance. Wolford didn’t know whether this was above or below his pay grade, though his current investigation was at a standstill and he’d rather not shuffle papers around. Even if it meant having to deal with “Sterile” Pryce and that vexing laugh of his.

“Shit!” Pryce chortled, “not only did Wilde save the guy, he got him to spill his guts! Literally and metaphorically! That’s gotta be the best police work I’ve seen in my career!”

Wolford made his disgust apparent. “You haven’t had a career for very long then, have you?”

“10 years motherfucker!” the oblivious hippo boasted with folded arms.

“And yet I made detective.”

“I’d probably get anything I’d want too if I sucked that Bogo dick.”

Wolford put a paw on his holster. “Wanna suck on my 9, you bloated corpse?”

Pryce put up his with a mocking shudder. “Aw c’mon, I was just teasing!”

“I’ll tease your heart with a fucking bullet,” derided Wolford.

“Hey, calm the fuck down,” cautioned Pryce. “It’s a joke. I’m sorry for hurting your ego. We cool?” Wolford pocketed his paw but not his seething resentment. That was good enough for Pryce. “Now think this over for a second. We’re about to wipe out an entire gang from Red Valley. That’s gotta mean something to you!”

“Might as well be swatting a fly out of a swarm. The Deacons are small time. Always have been.”

“So? That’s one less fly to poison the waterhole! What was that dumbass philosophy you’re always spouting? A 1% change in the community’s a 100% improvement in society or some shit?”

Wolford shrugged. “Even if we do get Hakan and whoever he’s with, there’s no guarantee it’ll go further than that.”

“You’d be surprised. People get  _ real _ chatty when looking at 25-to-life. Loyalty don't mean shit around here.”

“Whatever you say,  _ Sterile _ .” Wolford shook his head as Pryce glossed over the moniker and gleamed with confidence. Soon after, Nick approached the both of them. Wolford didn’t hesitate. “So what’s the plan, Wilde?”

Nick took a moment. “I’d love to rendezvous with Tropolis at the Nile Shopping Strip and pinch Handsome Hernia, but Dromry wants me to go with the blabber mouth to the hospital. Then he wants to screen me afterwards.”

“Right,” replied Wolford. He looked down to Nick’s eyes, attempting to pick up any semblance of dishonesty.

“Sounds like a Dromry thing to say,” said Pryce, breaking Wolford’s attention. “He’s been real careful with the transfers. It makes sense he’d want to screen Wilde.”

“Screen him for what? Like the fox’s never shot anyone before?”

Nick‘s heart rotated in his chest, making his next breath impossible. 

“Precinct 1’s way tamer than it is out here. You should know that.”

Wolford rolled his eyes. “Pardon me, how could I forget?” Though he was condescending, it had been a while since Wolford was at Precinct 1. Nevertheless, they had a pressing matter to attend to with no time to dawdle. “Sheriffs know we’re coming?”

“Yep,” nodded Nick. 

“Ok then,” Wolford replied as he stepped towards his Stampede. “You know where you’re going?” he asked Pryce.

“I’ll beat you there!” Pryce haphazardly stuffed the shield back into his Conqueror and sped off, Wolford following suit.

For the first time in an eternity, it was quiet. Almost peaceful. Hard to believe that Abel was bleeding to death on the pavement there not 10 minutes ago. Equally hard to believe was that Nick was the reason for that. A shudder worked its way up his knees.  _ God… How can I- _

“We’ve got ‘em stabilized. Ready to go when you are, Wilde!” shouted Nagole from the ambulance, which snapped Nick out of his second stupor. 

“Which hospital?” he asked.

“Saint Harper!”

Nick hurried back to the cruiser. “41-Nancy, escorting fire to St. Harper Hospital,” he said as he put the Columbus in gear. He whipped around and pulled up behind the ambulance. Slowly but surely, it set off, sirens blaring. As they thundered down the street, the tow truck passed them with two Sheriff’s cruisers escorting it. 

Was 8 really this under staffed? For a crime scene and cleanup to be offloaded to another department? Nothing like that ever happened in Downtown. But given that even the day shift is a dangerous endeavor, perhaps Bogo counted on Sahara Square to burn down and start from ash? Mayor Todd Renard certainly has his work cut out for him.

_ How did it get this bad?  _

Thankfully there was little impedance all the way to St. Harper. On the final turn before they pulled into the hospital, a pride of lions congregating on a corner glared at Nick menacingly. They killed him a million times over with their collective stares. There was no solace in the fact that Nick would never see them again, their collective judgement stayed with him.  _ Lil’ Bitch. _

Everything in the hospital operated at warp speed. The paperwork, however, brought things back to normal pace. Abel was in a medically induced coma, so everything on the report was from memory. Each stroke of the pen felt unnatural, like an anchor weighed his paw down. Could be carpal tunnel from the nonstop writing. Actually it was, it had to be. Nothing a shake of the wrist can’t fix. By the time he got to the last page, Nick’s wrist was in a hydraulic press, ready to compress into the next plane of reality. No harm in taking a break, he was ahead of schedule. The overnight officer won’t be here for another 10 or so minutes. He wondered how he resisted the urge to look at Abel for so long until now. 

A huge tube fed down his throat. The respirator rhythmically inflated and compressed his chest. IV lines hooked into his wrist. Faint speckles of blood on his bandaged abdomen. He was more machine than mammal, existing rather than living. Regret made Nick drop his head back into the clipboard.   
  
It wasn’t until after the overnight officer relieved him that he had time to reflect.  _ If it wasn’t for your efforts, Abel wouldn’t have made it…  _ Those words, echoing in his mind. Why did they refer to Nick like he’s some sort of hero? The chitals in the ambulance were the real heroes. All Nick and Pryce did was slow the bleeding, keep Abel talking, keep him tethered to Earth, stop him from drifting off to Purgatory for the gods above to decide where his spirit would go. There was no sense of accomplishment, no sense of pride like he’d often have, only emptiness. 

_ Dammit c’mon, don’t be like this _ .  _ So you had to pull your gun, big deal. Like that was out of the realm of possibility? How many has that happened in Downtown? _

…none. Well, there was one shooting that occured, but he’d only ever heard stories about it. The Silver Springs Plaza fountain. What should’ve been a routine disorderly conduct call quickly turned tragic when a drugged out lion shot and killed a rookie officer and left her partner disabled for life. A young jaguar and antelope, both Mammal Inclusion Initiative recruits. Fine young officers with bright futures ahead of them. There were even rumors they were dating. Horrible turn of events, and the worst part was the senselessness of it all. Nothing came from the investigation besides the shooter having a lethal amount of amphetamines in their veins. Had the disabled partner not shot and killed the suspect, the drugs would have. That poor antelope, losing his legs and the love of his life in mere seconds. She’d died in the same hospital he was treated in… Central Teaching? Sounds about right. Nick and Judy always felt remorse driving past it.

The train of thought continued when he nestled back into the Columbus. In hindsight, it was a doomed situation. Abel committed several felonies at once. Nothing Nick could’ve done would change the outcome. There was no magic phrase or set of actions that would’ve made Abel float out of the car and confess to everything he'd done. The reality is that Abel was willing to do anything to stay out of prison. Even if it meant killing someone. 

_ They don’t respect anyone’s life. Not even their own. _

But Abel had to. It couldn’t have been so black and white that he wanted Nick dead because he was inherently evil. It’s not like Abel  _ wanted _ to kill him.

…or maybe he did?  _ Dammit _ . Nick felt pain in his paw. The ache was back. He knew back at St. Harper why it was aching, but there was no distraction now. His right paw. His dominant paw. The one that held the gun. The recoil from the final bullet that his index finger commanded out of the chamber. An unexplainable weight that stayed constant; heavy. That gritty texture was pulsing on his fingertips. Everything felt like that rough handle to the touch. 

No matter what Nick did, the heaviness stayed on his paw. He seriously considered slamming it in the door just to feel  _ anything _ else. Irrational thoughts soon flooded his mind.    
  
_ Why did you go with that rabbit? Why did you leave your old life behind? Do you really want to be a cop? Does this make you happy? Does hurting others make you feel like a hero? Why did you shoot him? You deserve this. All of this. You heartless killer. Abel’s gonna die in the hospital, they all lied to you. Just like how you’ve been lying to yourself your whole life and continue to do so. Suffer. No one likes you, especially now. _   
  
His arm began to tremble. Soon, his whole body quaked. A lightning bolt shot up his tail and out his ears, prompting an audible yelp. Those musings—once thought to be abandoned with the muzzle on the cold pavement all those years ago—stabbed into his cortex and refused to let go. Feelings of overwhelming futility and hopelessness lingered deep within. That philosophy of “never let anyone see that they get to you” flew out the window.

His paws found their way onto his head, his sharp claws sank into his red fur, ready to air out the dread. Rip the fur, tear the flesh, endure the pain, bleed and bleed and bleed. Taint the seats, flood the floor with filthy, despairing apprehension. Unfiltered showers of torment and agony in the form of blood, sweat, and tears. No, he wasn’t crying. He wasn’t screaming for his mother. It wasn’t fighting to take over. There wasn’t a total loss of will to live. That wasn’t him wanting to end it all then and there. That wasn’t his standard issue in his paw. Its muzzle wasn’t under his jaw. That wasn’t his finger on the trigger. That final bullet… 

The only means of escape—his ticket out—sat in the glovebox. 

Everything was in the same place as this morning. That clear green Flic lighter was hanging out next to its good friend, the carton of Beltoises. It had been put to good use as half of its butane was gone. Owner wouldn’t notice it’s been used. If anything, they’d be excited to see a rolled-up buck in place of the cigarette now sitting between Nick’s lips, ready to provide that much needed relief.   
  
“NICHOLAS PIBERIUS WILD!”   
  
_ Oh great…  _   
  
Even in his mental hurricane, that little bunny lived in his head rent free. At this point, she was a blessing. Otherwise… Well, Nick had already boarded the nicotine train out of Hell.   
  
“It’s been a  _ very _ long day, Carrots.”   
  
“I don’t care if today broke the laws of space and time, there is NO REASON IN THE WORLD for you to light that harbinger of misery in your mouth!” God was she furious—as Nick expected her to be.    
  
“SPIT THAT OUT, NOW, MISTER!” Judy extended her paw right below Nick’s snout. His index and middle fingers were ascribed to his upper and lower lips respectively, as if ready to comply with the command. If the psychiatric examiner could see this now, he’d have Nick stripped of his badge and locked in a padded cell. Nick knew she wasn’t real, but she wouldn’t go away. So he chose to have a little fun.    
  
“Get your own,” he sneered with a sly inflection.    
  
“Wha?!” Judy practically fell over herself at the unbelievable retort that dumb fox had the aucacity to utter. “Why, if I could-”   


“You  _ can’t _ do anything because you’re not even here. Just leave me alone.” Nick paused for a while, waiting to see what Pretend Judy would have to say. What she said next was unexpected and yet exactly what he was expecting. 

“But… those are so bad for you…” That sudden drop in her voice really stung. How he managed to guilt trip himself was a feat, but this is exactly how a conversation with her would go. Not word for word per se, but all the same inflections and feelings would be there. “Do you really have to do that?”

_ She’s not really here, you know…  _ But she was, wearing her uniform, sitting in a much too big a seat for her, fingers interlocked on her lap, watching Nick with the greatest look of disappointment he’d ever seen. She wasn’t there—yet the emotional connection was. That’s when Nick noticed he was holding the lighter this whole time. Pretend Judy held out a paw towards Nick when the emerald vessel was struck to life, its flame mere inches from the Beltoise’s end. 

“Nick… don’t… please?” 

His brow furled as he looked at her glassy eyes, tears ready to break free. “I’m sorry, Judy. But, I  _ really  _ need this.” 

It… was not as nice as he remembered. Could either be because the cigarette was far past its prime, which it certainly was, or because of the guilt trip. Subsequent puffs, however, made him feel a little better about himself. The smoke laying dormant in his lungs and overflowing in his throat before gently coming back out to fill up the whole car. That time, it was exactly like he remembered, albeit with a garbage cigarette. In spite of that, the anxiety melted away, leaving him in a limp sort of comfortable. 10 years felt like 10 minutes ago. Nick didn’t know, or rather didn’t want to know, if it was him or Pretend Judy coughing. Whether she started crying from all the smoke or…    
  
_ I just can’t enjoy myself, can I? Dumb little bunny… _ what would have normally been an invigorating chill from filling his lungs with feel good chemicals was instead a tepid guilt. 

“…promise me this is your last one, ok?” Nick didn’t bear to look at her. The fleeting comfort that lingered in his nostrils left in a dull haze, leaving a familiar dejection from before. Instinctively Nick reached out to her before reeling back and placing finger on the window switch. At first, he convinced himself it was a courtesy for the next guy. But considering the smokes left in the glovebox, they probably stank up the car like Nick did. Why crack the windows then? Why was she…    
  
He was alone. Sitting in the Columbus with the Beltoise hanging on his lips. There’s no way he could keep that promise to her—to himself. It’s madness out here. If smoking doesn't kill him, a desperate criminal will. It’s a fair trade-off for a little reassurance. 

The only thing Nick remembered from the screening was buzzing fluorescent lights beating down his head and how miniscule he felt sitting across the gargantuan table in the giraffe's office. Specific details of the screening escaped him besides a strong urge to get up and walk out. He must not have done that until after a final pawshake and “goodnight” from the screener since no one yelled at him for leaving early. 

_ Dammit, it’s night? _

Of course it was, Nick took his sweet time to answer questions with a confident charm he would’ve made a fortune off of trademarking. There was one thing that came back clearly, just as he stepped out the front door and onto amber soaked, trash littered streets.   
  
“Before I wrap things up,” the cordial giraffe insisted, “are there any questions, comments, or concerns you have that weren’t addressed already?”   
  
There were a million questions, a billion comments, and a trillion concerns all fighting to roll off his tongue. Of the infinite things that could’ve been said, Nick inexplicably chose the most trivial thing he could think of.    
  
“Well, an extra magazine for patrol would be nice.”   
  
The screener pondered the answer, flipped through his sizable binder, and nodded. “Yes, I recall seeing that from your paperwork. I’ll make a note of it.” From then on, it was word spaghetti. Reassuring language designed to put Nick at ease, make him feel like his opinions mattered. Sure, they’ll give all of Precinct 8 extra magazines, newer cruisers, blueberries, liquor, escorts, contraceptives, a nice hotel room, the moon, the stars, whatever you want! Just say it right into this trash can! Oh, don’t worry about the papers already in there, that was from the last psychiatric screening.    
  
_ Right. _

Besides a quick stop at a corner store, Nick walked straight home. Had Honey not assured him that Levante would let him in, there wouldn’t be a pack of Zephyrs and a fairly nice lighter sitting in his pocket. Annoyingly, Honey wouldn’t lend her only key out—much less even show it to him—as he’d get a copy one way or another. 

“Hey,” said Levante after a quick puff of a crooked Regal hanging from his lips. “Nicky, right?” 

“That’s right.” Nick replied.    
  
“Honey said you’d be off by 6. What gives, dude?”   
  
“Long day.” 

“I bet.” Levante crushed the filter with his toothy grin. While fishing for his keys, a nostalgic aroma cascaded from his jacket and hovered around Nick’s nose. He couldn’t wait to strike up himself. “There you go,” said the wolf as he pulled the door open.

Before Nick went in, he turned back to Levante. “Why do you stand out here?” he asked inquisitively. 

Levante narrowed his eyes. “You askin’ as a cop?”

“Just curious.”

“Cuz I do whatever the fuck I want.” The wolf paired that with a hum.    
  
“It’s not safe out here, you know.” As if Levante was oblivious to that fact. 

“Sheeit, we in the Valley, preda. We livin’ on borrowed time.” A perfectly bleak outlook on things from someone who either doesn’t know better or doesn’t care. 

_ This was once a beautiful lobby _ Nick thought as he walked over the bare floor, taking care not to slice himself on broken tiles.  _ I really should get boots. _ He felt more welcomed than unsafe by the elevator. His tired feet thanked him for it. 

“Welcome back,” said Honey when she opened the door. “Weren’t you supposed to get off at 6?”   
  
“I had some paperwork to wrap up, you know how it is.”

“I sure don’t.” 

_ Why would she know?  _ he sighed. His nose picked up a waft of spices as he walked in, reminding his neglected belly to rumble. “You make dinner?”

“For myself, yeah, but there’s leftovers if you’re interested.”   
  
“Wouldn’t be askin’ if I wasn’t.”    
  
“Gimme a sec.”   
  
From Honey, that’s an eternity. He could’ve chosen a snack from the bodega, but that would mean having to spend a little longer being a target. Hunger, at least in that moment, was safer than standing in a brightly lit store—its neon signs beckoning for attention. 

He plopped onto his plush couch and replaced the TV remote with his feet on the coffee table. Another quirk of Honey’s was having ZNN on 24/7, whether she was watching or not. As soon as Nick noticed Captain Dromry appear on screen, he sat up and paid attention.    
  
_...transfer from Precinct 1 that we apprehended Hakan Alvaro, a prominent member of the Deacons street gang. While I can’t comment on specifics due to the ongoing investigation, I have full confidence that we- _   
  
“You watching this?” asked Nick, remote on standby.    
  
“No, do what you want,” announced Honey from the kitchen.   
  
What he wanted was to see if Zephyr made any changes to their packaging. All the warning labels were the same, assuring its users of the joys of lung cancer, emphysema, and pregnancy complications from continued use. Thank the lucky stars Nick’s thumb conveniently covered up the Surgeon General’s wise words, otherwise he’d have to think  _ twice _ about his unborn child’s well being. Although focusing on the two rows of filters might not have been the best idea while Honey carried in Nick’s chickpea spinach curry.    
  
“I thought you quit?” Honey said from across the coffee table. His fault for wanting to look at the damn things now instead of waiting for her to sleep.    
  
“Me too,” he smirked.    
  
“You ain’t smoking in this apartment.”    
  
“I wasn’t going to.” He turned his head to the balcony door. “I gotta make a phone call.”   
  
“What about this?” Honey looked down to the food.   
  
Nick pointed to the table. “Set it down, I’ll eat when I’m done. Thank you.”   
  
“Whatever,” Honey rolled her eyes. “Just make sure you wash the plate and put it away.”

“Mhmm. G’night.” Nick stepped onto the slate tiled balcony and slid the door shut. He felt confident that no one would try shooting at him from this high up. 

Once more, he was isolated, his only company being Downtown’s distant, spectacular lights. His fur tussled in the wind as he leaned against the thick railing, not focusing on anything in particular. His wandering eyes soon locked on to the black and blue carton sitting in his paw, its lid flapping in the breeze. Striking the Zephyr was an event as they’re leagues better than everything else on the carcinogen rack. Their biggest selling point was a nifty little capsule in the filter that, when squeezed, adds an intense spearmint kick to the already potent nicotine hit. 

Crunching down on it with his incisors was almost as satisfying as the silky smooth Zephyr caressing his chest and chilling his soul. Coupled with the cozy desert air and a neighbor of Honey’s blasting a dime a dozen trap beat, it was fair to say Nick was lost in euphoria. So much so that he quickly whittled the Zephyr down to the filter. No one from down below would know he tossed the butt from the ninth floor, what with all the loose trash clattering below. Well, Levante would, but he wouldn’t care. However, Nick held onto the remnants as he was no litter bug.   
  
The one thing he remembered most from his smoking days was having to cup his paw around a flame if it was particularly windy. Only once did he burn himself doing that, way back when Finnick first showed him how. After that day’s come up to make some bread, they’d unwind from the back of the van while and discussed whatever was on their mind. Nick didn’t appreciate those simpler days like he should have. A far cry from now, when all they’d have to worry about is what harebrained scheme to think of next. Now, Finnick’s got his pawnshop with Donovan and Nick’s got the ire of Sahara Square’s scummiest. That and to make a phone call to a certain bunny living somewhere in that glamorous skyline. Was it any surprise that Judy picked up faster than Dromry? 

“Nick, hey! I was about to text you because I started to worry since it’s late and I didn’t know if…” Nick bobbed his head along to every melodic word. It was so nice to hear her actually speak that he forgot to stop her. Judy caught herself and slowed down. “Ah, sorry, I got a bit carried away there, didn’t I?”   
  
“A bit, huh?” he smiled.  _ Wait, the menthol. I can’t be… wait, why? It’s not like she can smell it over the phone. _ Still, he felt it was impolite _.  _ While chuckling along with Judy’s snort filled laughter, he squished the ember out and set it on the railing.

“Ha, yeah maybe a bit  _ too _ much. Anyway, before I start rambling again, how are you? How was your first day?”

Nick looked out to Downtown, then to the opened pack and lighter sitting on the railing beside the crumpled menthol, then finally to the ground. He pinched his brow and let out a long, smoky sigh. 

“Oh Carrots… where do I begin?”


End file.
